


The Last Laugh

by The_Cleric



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9166654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cleric/pseuds/The_Cleric
Summary: In 19th century England, Detective Bruce Wayne embarks on his most daring mystery yet when he is hired by Lady Diana Princeton to track down a fiendish murderer known only as 'The Joker'.





	

"You are lying," stated the detective, his eyes darkening with a special scowl reserved for scoundrels of the worst sort. The smooth, dapper smile of the man on the receiving end of the interrogation only broadened.

"I suppose you have proof, Mr. Wayne, of my alleged fabrication? As I told you and the Constabulary and Scotland Yard and every other bloody detective in Her Majesty's Kingdom, Winston- God rest his soul- attacked my person with the intention to inflict grievous bodily harm. He would surely have bashed my brains in had I not, after having been knocked down perilously close to the fireplace in my study, grabbed a poker stick and stabbed him through with it. That is simply all there is to tell. Now I of course did not intend for my dear brother to die. . .."

The detective, having since stopped listening, allowed his gaze to drift toward the two constables in the room. How disappointing that they were foolish enough to consider that Marcus Jeffries might actually be telling the truth. The holes in his recounting were legion, and even a simpleton could have spotted them. He backed away from the table, lulling Marcus into a sense of false security. "So, you are saying that you were beneath your brother at the time that you impaled him?"

Marcus scowled at the detective's choice of words. "Yes."

"Facing him?"

"Yes."

"You lie on both counts. The wound that killed him was inflicted from behind, and at a downward angle. He is a full eight inches taller than you, Mr. Jeffries I find it hard to believe that even a man of your talents could inflict a downward blow into a man's back while he is charging you and you are facing him."

Marcus began to rise. "How can you-"

"Had you stabbed Winston whilst he was facing you, the instrument of his death would surely have dislodged blood and tissue alike in a manner corresponding to an exit from the corpus. Of course, this type of exit wound was on Winston's chest, not his back. You killed him from behind."

"Circumstantial fluff," Marcus sputtered, his calm demeanor evaporating.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I must commend you for so thoroughly exploiting your brother's infamous temper in your scheme, but this was no self-defense. So these fine officers of the law will now going to take you into custody. You may argue your innocence in front of a judge when your court date is set. Perhaps you will have more luck convincing him."

And so, with a quick nod and a tip of his hat, Bruce Thomas Wayne was on his way.

***

Lady Diana Princeton was most certainly a recognizable figure in the community, the daughter of its richest aristocrat and a ravishing beauty to boot. With long, lustrous dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and the carriage of royalty, most women would be delighted to find Lady Diana waiting in their home.

Bruce Wayne was merely annoyed.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, barely managing to temper his voice. Of all things that he valued most, it was the privacy of his inner sanctum, the Wayne House (jokingly referred to as the Bats' Cave because of the many flying rodents that inhabited the place).

Diana, who was outrageously seated at his very own desk, peered at him demurely over the top of the book she was reading from his study. "Interesting," she said as she scanned the pages. "I must say, Sir Wayne, that this is truly remarkable reading that you have in your library. 'Fingerprinting?' 'Ballistics?'. . .most fascinating indeed."

Bruce was at a complete loss what to say, everything that came to mind being words he would surely regret later. Still, who could blame him? The temerity . . .prancing into his study and perusing his books. He'd never met a woman with such gall.

"I assure you sir," said a familiar voice, "that her reasons for being here more than merit your time."

"Alfred," Bruce said, turning. 'Why did you let her in?"

"He didn't," Diana answered. "Surely a detective such as yourself has heard of picking locks."

Bruce blinked, somewhat surprised that his legendary glare could furnish no reaction from Diana Princeton. "The place to come if you wish to hire my services is my office, not my home," he said. "Come back tomorrow."

"You weren't there, and it is past closing hours already. I cannot wait until the morrow, as this is a matter of utmost importance. Please, take a seat and I will explain all."

Bruce was struck at the irony of it, even as he pulled up a stool. A woman he'd barely just met was sitting in his house giving him orders, a situation that made him uncomfortable from the start. That, and the fact that despite his own formidable resolve he was finding himself ever so slightly entranced by Lady Diana's beauty. He had seen her before, of course, but never this close or while carrying on a conversation. The sooner she was gone, he decided, the better.

"It all began a month ago," she was saying. "My mother, long an activist for the rights of women founded an organization known as Daughters of the Amazon. "The Amazons were-"

"A society comprised solely of warrior women, led by Queen Hippolyta. In the Greek myth, they practiced the removal of one breast, so as to better improve skills with the bow and arrow."

Diana blushed. "I can assure you that my mother's organization does not take after the traditional Amazons in all respects."

"I should hope not. A society filled only with women would function about as well as a chicken deprived of its head. I've yet to see the society built by women's hands."

"Or destroyed by them," Diana said mildly. "I take it you don't think much of the women's equality movement?"

Despite the sudden feeling that he was being given a test (and failing), Bruce answered. "Wel, I simply don't go as far as to believe that roles clearly intended for men should be taken up by women."

Diana frowned, pity and disappointment simultaneously coloring her exquisite features, if only for a moment. "For someone so progressive concerning science and detection, your thinking is remarkably backwards when it concerns other matters. Times are changing, Mr. Wayne. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday, one's gender will not define their place in life, what they can or cannot do."

"Perhaps. Regardless, that is a debate for another day and another person, one much more tolerant of impudent women breaking into their offices than I am. Now, as I recall, you were supposed to be telling me what exactly brought you to my door."

"Ah. Yes. Well, my mother formed Daughters of the Amazon and organized the first meeting about a month ago. There were about two dozen ladies in attendance, all very excited at the talk of being able to own property, divorce, vote, earn equal wages, etcetera."

"I sounds to me as though the service of a genie and bottle are needed, not a detective."

Diana gave a humorless smile. "A detective," she said, "is needed because two days ago, three of our members were found beaten, violated, and murdered in a most humiliating and gruesome manner."

Bruce's expression instantly became sober. "This is terrible," he said, "but wouldn't the Constabulary or Scotland Yard be more suited to such an investigation. My role is typically that of a consultant."

"Oh you were not my first choice. Unfortunately, this murderer confounds the constabulary at every turn, leaving only a singular clue: the Joker from a deck of cards. Your skills are undisputed and your accomplishments as a detective well-attested. And so here I am, seeking your aid where others have failed."

An empty maw burrowed into Bruce's mind as soon as he heard mention of playing cards. The Joker . . .the same card that had been left near the bodies of his brutally murdered parents. Jackson Cale, the disgruntled circus clown responsible for their robbery and murder had been hanged, so surely it couldn't be him. Whoever it was, though, displayed the same- the exact same- theatricality in his murderous pursuits. How could it be a coincidence?

"Bruce?" Diana prodded as his silence stretched on.

"Right, of course." He cleared his throat, his mouth having suddenly gone dry. "This is a most intolerable situation. I will gladly take your case. Though I can make no promises-"

"Thank you!" That plus smile that he received from her was ample reward. Tearing his gaze away from his enchanting visitor, he turned then to his butler who had watched the entire conversation. "Alfred," he said, "Prepare my cane, and toolbelt. Tomorrow, I shall begin my inquiry."


End file.
